


All our yesterdays and tomorrows

by Sheeana



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Bittersweet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 17:19:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/624639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheeana/pseuds/Sheeana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A snowy evening, two friends, and a game of chess. Charles and Erik share a brief respite together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All our yesterdays and tomorrows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [navaan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/navaan/gifts).



> This takes place about five years after the end of X-Men: First Class.
> 
> To navaan: what you wrote for me for not_primetime was so amazing, and this is just something small, but I hope you enjoy it!

"Checkmate," Erik said aloud - the first word either of them had actually spoken in over an hour. Startled, Charles glanced up at him over the chessboard between them. His eyebrows were raised, his hands folded under his chin.

"... Yes, I see," he replied, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I would concede, but I believe I've allowed my pride to drag this game on far longer than was strictly necessary."

"You often do."

"Are you referring to this game of chess, or...?"

_You know exactly what I'm referring to._

_I can always hope you've changed your mind,_ said Charles, with a touch of defiance and a touch of the hopefulness Erik always so found distasteful. Charles' dreaming would never accomplish anything. Such naivete was for children and those who had never experienced the cruel reality of humanity.

 _It isn't naive to hope, Erik,_ Charles chided, intruding, but it was Erik's own fault; he chose to remove his helmet for these evenings they sometimes shared. The slight thrill of electromagnetic energy thrumming in his mind, the sense he had come to associate solely with Charles - he missed it, when he wore a shield over his thoughts. He might have tried to hide the sentiment from Charles, but Charles was already aware that Erik considered the helmet a necessary evil.

Once, late in the night and over their third glass of wine, Charles had pointed out the futility of wearing it at all, if Erik was going to allow Charles to read his mind during these stolen moments. They were both aware that it represented a public statement more than any actual distrust on Erik's part. Charles was capable of many things, but Erik believed he would never influence Erik's choices. He seemed to find something sacred in allowing Erik to make them himself, or these evenings would have long ago become a more permanent arrangement. 

While Erik rearranged the painted black and white ivory chess pieces on the board, Charles wheeled himself to the window overlooking the front lawn. In the five years since his injury, he seemed to have acclimatized well to his paralysis, but Erik would have been lying if he said he'd never felt any guilt for what he'd done to a man he once called friend.

 _A man you still call friend,_ Charles reminded him, without any trace of regret or anger or resentment. There was no trace of forgiveness, either, but Erik knew it was there, if he ever wanted to seek it out. So far he contented himself with knowing Charles would never reject him.

"If you say so, Charles," he said, and the corners of his lips curved slightly upwards into something that wasn't quite a smile.

"You know I always will." Charles fell into silence, after that, and Erik glanced over his shoulder at him. He seemed to be focused intently on something outside.

Leaving the chess pieces half-scattered, he came to stand behind Charles and leaned against the frame of the window. The white paint and wood had been chilled by the snow and ice, but the fire in the hearth kept Charles' room warm. Outside, the snow was falling so thickly Erik couldn't see the dark evergreen trees lining the driveway, usually so distinct against the bright green of the grass or the white of the snow.

"There'll be no travelling tonight," he said, as he watched the flakes falling, being caught in the wind, blown away.

"No, I suppose not," Charles said absently, staring out the window. There was something like longing in his voice. Not for the first time, Erik wished for the power to read minds, to see Charles' thoughts as Charles could see his.

"If you would simply admit-"

"No," Charles snapped. "No, Erik, I am sorry, but I will never admit something I cannot believe, and I cannot believe that the path you have chosen is the correct one. We must share the world, not dominate it."

"You will see, one day. I've only ever done what was necessary to secure our future." It was the same tired argument Erik trotted out again and again and again, and each time Charles rebuffed him. He didn't know why he continued to try. Maybe he truly believed that Charles would one day see the truth, or maybe it was simply the familiarity of going through the motions. So much was changing in the world, shifting so quickly, becoming unrecognizable, but Charles was a source of stability in Erik's life. Erik liked to think he played the same role for Charles. Even so, he did wish Charles would open his eyes and see reason, so he continued: "I've always acted in the best interests of you and your students, whether you see it or not."

_No, my friend. You will always have a home here, or wherever I happen to find myself, but I cannot condone your actions._

Charles' words sent bitterness deep into Erik's heart, like a shard of jagged steel. He reached for his helmet, setting his fingertips against the cold metal, ready to lift it back to his head with a flick of his wrist and a moment of concentration.

"Erik," Charles scolded. 

After a moment of hesitation, Erik obligingly removed his fingers from the metal surface of the helmet. He would block Charles from his thoughts in the morning. Tonight, Charles could try to find _hope_ if he wished. He would never find it if he kept searching in the same way he was now; he was looking in all the wrong places, and he refused to allow Erik to guide him.

They resumed their silent vigil over the driveway. Charles' ancient grandfather clock ticked in the background, counting off the seconds, and then the minutes. They were waiting for nothing, but their eyes searched the snow for something anyway.

"Would you care for some wine?" Charles asked eventually, when the sound became unbearable for both of them. Whatever they were looking for, they hadn't found it. Likely it wasn't something that could be found in a snowstorm.

"If you're offering, then yes," Erik said. He lifted two empty glasses ringed with gold on their rims with a wave of his hand, and gently deposited them on the table beside the chessboard. Then he returned to his seat, and continued rearranging the pieces for their next game.

"Red or white?" Charles called out, from the other side of the room.

"Red."

"Hmm." Charles examined the collection of bottles he kept in a wine rack on the far wall. He selected one from the bottom row and pulled it into his lap. "This one, I think."

He brought it back with him as he wheeled himself back into place opposite Erik. When he reached for the first glass, their knuckles brushed against each other as Erik set the white queen back into her place on the board. For a moment, they both paused.

Such a simple gesture for two people who could rend iron and steel, read minds, create the world in their own image if they so chose. Just a momentary brush of skin against skin, almost an oversight, but it spoke of longing, and possibility, and a life neither of them would ever live. Circumstance and choice had forced them onto this path, and Erik intended to see it through. He expected nothing less of Charles.

They spent the rest of their night deep in discussion - of politics, philosophy, science - but the word "tomorrow" never once crossed their lips or entered their thoughts.


End file.
